


An Angel Sitting On A Tree

by LunaStorm



Series: Tales of Christmastime [1]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStorm/pseuds/LunaStorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the tune of 'O Tannenbaum' tells of Angel sitting on a tree, of an unexpected meeting and of gleaming snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Angel Sitting On A Tree

**Author's Note:**

> The music of the traditional Christmas carol “O Tannenbaum”, though originally German, is well known all over Europe and I believe every country has its own version of the lyrics (I know it in German, English, French, Spanish, Romanian and of course, Italian). 
> 
> Curiously enough, while the ‘nordic’ countries all have similar lyrics about the Christmas tree, the ‘southern’ ones are either about Christmas lights, or – like in the case of the Italian version – a little Christmas story.

**_Raccontano che un angelo  
Disceso a curiosare_ **

Warren Worthington III (though these days, he was better known as Angel) walked aimlessly among the dark firs in the wood behind the School (the Xavier School for Gifted, his and many other mutant’s safe haven), revelling in how the only sound in the frosty night was that of his boots crunching snow at every step.  
He was feeling rather down and the cheer and noise and warmth of Christmas Eve among the students were not what he felt up to.  
Too many stayed over the holidays: only a fortunate few had accepting enough families that they felt welcome at their homes. For most of them, the School was the only home.  
Warren was grateful to the Professor for giving him a place to stay and most of the time, he was happy here. But the fact remained that he was too old to be a student and mingle and belong with the teenagers here – even if they always welcomed his presence and never made him feel out of place, he still felt ill at ease from time to time – and he wasn’t a teacher either – wasn’t sure he wanted to become one, actually – or an x-man – though that might be a possibility... but it was only a thought whirling through his head for now. He hadn’t been here long after all and he wasn’t sure he had much to offer to the Professor’s special force.  
The problem was that, while he knew that he wasn’t a student, or a teacher, or a special agent, or his father’s son and heir anymore... he didn’t know what he was.  
So even if for the most part he was happy, there were times when he just needed to get away from all of them and have a sulk on his own, here among the trees who didn’t ask him to be anything.  
He raised his eyes to the top of the tree he’d just reached, his favourite, an old, strudy fir. With barely a thought, his enormous, candid wings unfurled – and Lord, how marvellously liberating it always was to unfurl them! – and he jumped off, going to perch upon a thick branch as he so often did when he felt the need for quiet solitude. 

**_Si rifugiò su un albero  
La sera di Natale _ **

He couldn’t say how much time had gone by in the cold, still night when the soft sound of crunching steps on the snow reached him.  
Who had come out here, tonight of all nights?  
He peered among the branches, ready to fly off if it was one of the more rambunctious boys – the last thing he needed right now was a noisy prank...  
But the figure who emerged slowly from the darkness was unfamiliar. A young woman, he guessed in the slight reverberation of the snow, bundled in a coat-jacket to fend off the cold – and she came from the outside perimeter. Someone new, perhaps? Mutants arrived ever so often at the school, seeking sanctuary more than anything...  
Warren kept still, not really wanting to do the meet and greet, but she seemed to sense him anyway and made her way to the feet of the tree he was perched upon. She looked up at him and smiled, and he reluctantly smiled back.  
When their eyes met, she gasped loudly.  
With a sharp sound, the clothes covering her upper body were torn by the unbridled force of white feathered wings bursting forth and unfurling to their fullest extent. Wings identical to his own.  
She moaned in pain, dark drops of blood falling to stain the snow covered ground, while Warren stared in horror.  
What was going on? Was she just coming into her powers? But how was this possible? And how could she be just like him? And she must be in pain... pain he was familiar with... should he help her? But how...?  
She didn’t seem too perturbed, though.  
She wiggled them a little, a hand running uncertainly over the feathers within her reach. She looked more awed than scared.  
Then she tried flapping them. She was awkward, their unusual weight upsetting her balance, and she hissed in pain when they accidentally hit the branches, only to giggle a little a moment later, when she had to catch herself. All in all anyway, she got them under control far more quickly than Warren himself had when they’d appeared on him shortly before his thirteenth birthday. And she didn’t seem nearly as freaked out as he had been.  
Before his shocked eyes, she jumped off the ground, teetering and flapping and laughing at her awkward attempts, not deterred in the least when the first tries ended with her falling back to the ground, and finally worked out how to use the new muscles and more or less made her way towards him, graceless as a baby bird at his first flight but successful nonetheless.  
She managed to fly up almost to his level and then grabbed a branch to haul herself up, chuckling as the too big wings flared unconsciously and trembled and threatened to upset her and generally got in the way.  
“They’re quite uncomfortable, aren’t they?” she asked conversationally. “Beautiful, though.”  
She regarded him with a kind, intent gaze and he returned it with silent, unattractive gawking.  
She was somewhat pretty, although not beautiful by any means, with dark curls, a sweet smile and a strange, silvery-glassy quality to her eyes.  
And huge, candid wings.  
He couldn’t wrap his mind around the unbelievable apparition. He was too shocked to even say anything.  
“At-t-t least I know I-I-I c-c-came to the right p-place,” she muttered reflexively, shivering uncontrollably. She smiled faintly: “An-n Ang-gel r-r-resting on a t-tree… on C-christ-m-mas Eve… fitting, I s-sup-pose...”  
The words were barely understandable due to the chattering of her teeth. That, and the violent shivers that wracked her body, finally snapped Warren out of his daze.  
“You’re cold!” he exclaimed in consternation. Of course, the wings had torn her clothes! “Here, wait…” he fumbled with his coat – a specially made one that fit around his wings with ease – and shrugged it off, provoking a flutter of snow falling from the branches nearby.  
She accepted gratefully and then oopsed and chuckled trying to put it on without losing her balance, her wings being jostled awkwardly and tangling with the branches.  
Warren chuckled too and tried to help her and they caught themselves on nearby branches and handy arms, upsetting one another again and laughing at their own clumsiness and eventually helping each other to find some sort of teetering balance, perched where they were.  
By the time they managed, they were gripping each other’s arms tightly and held themselves stiff in precarious balance, their faces flushed with effort and mirth. Warren felt a sudden closeness to the young woman, watching into her eyes, a sense of kinship, a – hopefully – budding friendship.  
He suddenly hoped she was here to stay.  
He cleared his throat, shy. “You’re here to attend the Xavier School for Gifted, then?” he asked.  
“I’m hoping to be allowed to stay, yes,” she admitted slowly, suddenly looking unsure.  
“You will.” Warren smiled with full confidence: he remembered well how nervous he’d been when he’d come here, not knowing if the place was really a safe haven for mutants, if he’d be allowed in, if they’d ask of him things he wasn’t ready to give, if, if, if… but Professor X never turned anyone away. If she was looking for a place to belong, she’d found it.  
And Warren felt inexplicably happy at the thought.  


**_La neve su quei rami allor  
D’argento e d’oro diventò_ **

A cheery voice shattered the quiet stillness of the snowy wood. “Angel?... Aaangeel!”  
“Now, where did you go and hide, you asocial bird?”  
He recognized the voices of Painter and Shadowcat, likely coming to hunt him down and drag him back to the festivities.  
He found he didn’t mind. His longing for solitude had disappeared.  
“Up here!” he called.  
“Whoa!” cried Painter gleefully as they approached. “And who’s that bird there with ya, now? Secret sweetheart? Why, Angel, you sly dog, you!”  
Warren blushed furiously.  
“Matthew!” screeched Shadowcat indignantly. “Leave them alone!...”  
She didn’t have time to berate him properly, though: as soon as the new girl caught Painter’s mirthful, raised eyes with her own gaze, her wings disappeared, the skin quickly and seamlessly mending on her back, as if the huge feathered appendages had never existed.  
Warren stared at her in renewed shock. How was that possible?  
The girl gasped loudly and snatched her hand away from his arm with a soft, dismayed “Oh!”  
He looked down to see that his coat’s sleeves were now a bright, cheery red – the exact shade Painter had chosen for his ‘Christmas dye’, in fact. So were his hands, now that he noticed. And... he twisted a fraction to glance back... his wings too!  
“Whoa!” exclaimed Painter from right below them. “I didn’t do this, I swear!” he claimed hurriedly. “I wouldn’t touch your wings, Angel, I know they’re off limits!”  
Warren nodded, a little dazed. He believed him: he’d made very sure that the hyperactive colours-addict understood to let his wings be.  
"No… I’m afraid I did,” the new arrival said softly.  
When Warren looked at her, she was biting her lip, looking sorry.  
Warren smiled uncertainly, wanting to reassure her even if he was rather confused. What did she mean, she’d done it? Was her power like Painter’s too? Did she have more than one? That wasn’t supposed to be possible... and where were her wings, anyway?  
She looked immediately relieved, then shy and finally her smile turned just a little bit mischievous, alarming him a little. She extended her hand slowly to touch the snow, watching it intently, a cute frown of concentration on her face.  
An instant later, the snow on the nearby branches gained a silver and gold tint, sparkling cheerfully all around them.  
“Wicked!” shouted Painter from below in admiration. “Say, you wouldn’t be up to a bit of a prank, lass? Between you and me, we could have Cyclops’ and Wolverine’s motors neon pink in no time at all...”  
“It’s lovely,” was Shadowcat’s comment. “Are you knew? I don’t think I’ve seen you before. My name’s Kitty, by the way.”  
The young woman smiled a little and looked down, bracing herself on Warren’s arm, to meet the bubbly girl’s eyes: “Nice to meet you, Kitty, I’m – whoa!”  
She and Warren cried out as the branch they were perched upon apparently turned insubstantial all of a sudden, letting them freefall towards the ground as if no material obstacles were there to stop them. In a rush of adrenaline, Warren shot his wings out and flapped them powerfully to slow their sudden descent, calming down his raging heartbeat as he gently floated them both to the ground.  
“What was that?” exclaimed Kitty bewildered. “It looked like what I can do, but surely...”  
The young woman interrupted softly: “Mirror. I am known... as Mirror.”  
And she turned to look up into Warren’s eyes again, and once more wings exploded from her back in a flurry of feather, missing Painter’s head by half an inch.  
“Wow!” was the two kids’ succinct comment.  
Warren shook his head slightly, amazed at the strange turn her mutation had taken.  
“Welcome to Xavier School for Gifted, then, Mirror,” he told her smiling brightly. “And Merry Christmas!”  


**_E fu così che illuminò  
Il bosco degli abeti_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s one possible English translation (my own) of the Italian lyrics that inspired this Christmas ficlet:
> 
> _The legend says an Angel once_  
>  _Came down to wander in a wood_  
>  _And perched upon a snowy fir_  
>  _On Christmas Eve to rest._  
>  _The snowy branches of that tree_  
>  _Then gained a gold and silver shine_  
>  _And thus the fir and wood at large_  
>  _Were made to glow and glimmer._


End file.
